


Ares' Tears

by DecidedlyUndecidedly



Category: Hatari (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Chains, Gen, Non-Sexual Bondage, hatari music video extended universe i guess, music video, that's a thing i've just made up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:20:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22822429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DecidedlyUndecidedly/pseuds/DecidedlyUndecidedly
Summary: Inspired by a comment on the video for Engin Miskunn, which said that with Matthías walking down the road at the beginning, it's as if his character from the Hatrið Mun Sigra video, the dictator, has lost the slaves who once carried him - his world is falling apart. I thought about how you could follow on from that, to show him falling further, in a video for 14 Ár, since that's a song where Matthías' character is enslaved for a change. I can't remember where I saw the original comment - may have been Discord, may have been YouTube - but thank you to whoever said it!
Kudos: 17





	Ares' Tears

The pain - that he could endure. He had fought his way to victory with his bare hands and had the scars to prove it; when they whipped him and branded him, he had not made a sound. But the humiliation was driving him to madness. The heavy iron collar around his neck, the shackles wrapping his wrists and ankles, the chain held by the masked one who had been his general - the traitor - dragging him through the streets to be jeered at by the gathered crowd, all of them dressed in white, and worst of all, the bit between his teeth. Once the glorious leader, his voice ringing out from the podium with speeches that roused the populace to pledge their frenzied loyalty to the cause, now a prisoner, a slave, silenced and mocked. The new masters still considered his tongue dangerous, he could take pride in that: they dared not let him speak for fear he might command the masses once more, though they would not admit it. The balance of power in these times was fragile - as he had found himself, to his great cost.

The traitor pulled sharply on the chain and he stumbled, though he did not fall. He would not give them the satisfaction. He would stay standing as long as he physically could - they would have to hold him down to keep him down, he had promised himself that. He was brought to the foot of the palace steps - his palace, his shining marble vision - before the girl on her throne at the top, wreathed in flowers, the shaven-headed priest by her side. The sight of the priest sickened him: another traitor, the one who had told him that the ritual would unleash power never before witnessed. In that sense, he had not lied. But he had tricked him, though the former ruler despaired that he had allowed himself to be tricked. The one holding the chain pushed him to the ground, but he rose again. The traitor punched him in the stomach then jerked him forward by the hair as he was bent double, but before he could throw him down once more, a voice called out.

_No._

Everywhere and nowhere at once, the voice of the victim, the one who had been sacrificed as he was born from the ichor and whose spirit now lived in and ruled through the girl queen. She held out her hand.

_Leave him._

The traitor stepped back, letting go of the chain, though it was clear from his eyes that he was ready to strike again at the slightest provocation. Let him strike. The blows of one who stood for nothing meant nothing to him. The girl stared.

_The boy leader, at the head of his army. You thought you were Alexander, didn't you, or Napoleon. Now you understand that some stars burn brightest as they crash to the ground._

He clenched his teeth around the bit. They thought their victory was complete, but false idols don't last, the people would come to their senses and restore the true order of things - he may have lost but they had not won, they would find that out one day, whether he was there to see it or not.

_You want to die, don’t you? You want us to kill you._

The voice multiplied its sweetness, reverberating off the shining pillars.

_We would never do that. We are merciful, unlike you. And you are not meant to become a martyr. There is a place for you here. You are needed. The purpose you are destined to serve is not the one you foresaw for yourself, but you will become accustomed to it, in time._

No, he would never stop fighting, they could do whatever they wanted to his body, but they would never conquer his mind.

_Your mind - you think that belongs to you alone? No, we are bound together, we have been since the moment of rebirth. You saw to that when you summoned us. The priest carried out the ritual, yes, but that distance did not protect you, as you were led to believe. The desire was yours. And it is desire which binds us._

I have no desire for this, he thought, suddenly aware of a presence pulsating in his brain, a presence he knew had been there for some time, veiled until this moment.

_But you could, if that is our will. Come to us now._

Legs shaking, he ascended the steps. He tried to stop himself, but every primal instinct within him urged him forwards. He stood before the girl, who looked up at him with her blank, white eyes. She became the centre of his universe. He had never felt anything like this before: he had spent so long trying not to feel at all, and now this deep hunger had been imposed upon him, stamped over everything he knew about himself, a longing to serve.

_Kneel._

He fought as best he could, but the spirit was right: their souls were intertwined, and it was impossible for him to resist the call from inside his very being. Slowly, he knelt. The crowd roared, their voices dull to him now. They did not occupy the same world. He threw his head back and his mouth fell open as something suffused his body, a nauseating kind of pleasure that he hated, but craved as soon as it was taken away. The pressure lifted a little from his mind, he felt something of himself return, but still he could not stand.

_So you see. You can submit willingly, or we will hollow you out and use you as we wish. The result for us is the same, but we give you the choice of retaining yourself. We do not want to extort what might be freely given._

Which was the greater torture? Being complicit in the destruction of his psyche, or acquiescing to their commands? The spirit was right, he had not foreseen this, and he could not see a way out. He wished for death, and they would not grant it to him. Years, decades of subjugation stretched out before him with no escape - oblivion would surely be the only way to bear this. But as long as he kept some sense of who he was, who he had been, there was hope… The girl took the chain and wrapped it round her delicate fingers, then placed her other hand on his forehead in a blessing. He collapsed to the ground, sobbing, face pressed against the marble, and the scent of lily of the valley filled the air.


End file.
